Piranha by Clive Cussler Page A

was clean and started putting the canisters back into their packs.
    Before he was finished, he felt a vibration thrum through the floor.
    â€œIs that you?” he asked Linda.
    â€œNegative. They’ve engaged the engine. The tanker is getting under way. Get out of there now!”
    MacD, with the shortened deadline, couldn’t argue with that order. He jammed the last of the canisters into the pack and handed it to Mike, who put it on.
    They retraced their way out. When they got to the main deck corridor and reached the end of the hall, three men were outside, smoking cigarettes and talking, apparently happy that they were on course again.
    â€œHurry up,” Linda said. “You’re already up to five knots. I won’t be able to keep up with you much longer.”
    â€œWe can’t reach our climbing equipment,” MacD said to her. “The port exit’s blocked.”
    â€œI don’t think we can wait them out this time,” Mike said. He pointed at the other end of the corridor leading out to the starboard side of the ship. “How do you feel like going for a swim?”
    MacD shrugged. “Why not?”
    They sprinted down the hall, expecting at any moment to see a crewman emerge from a door right in front of them. When they got to the end of the corridor, MacD checked the door. It was clear.
    Outside, the wind whipped across the deck as the tanker gained speed.
    â€œLinda, we’re about to take a dip on the starboard side,” MacD said, knowing that their electronics would be fried as soon as they hit the water. “We sure would appreciate you coming on over and picking us up when you get a chance.”
    â€œRoger that,” she replied. “I’m on my way.”
    With one last look to make sure they were alone, MacD and Mike climbed onto the rail. They launched themselves forward, competing to see who could make the better swan dive. Although they entered the water with splashes, MacD was sure that nobody on the tanker would have noticed in the darkness.
    MacD surfaced and bobbed in the
Sorocaima
’s wake as it churned toward its destination in North Korea. Mike paddled beside him.
    â€œHow’s the hand?” MacD asked him.
    â€œNothing an ice bucket won’t cure,” Mike replied.
    In three minutes, with the tanker far in the distance, the Discovery broke the surface and Linda stuck her head out of the hatch.
    â€œYou look like you both made it through just fine,” she said with a smile, “but I give you only a three on the dives. Let’s see a gainer or a twist next time.”
    MacD turned to Mike and said, “Everyone’s a critic.”
    â€œEspecially a squid.”
    Like swabbie, squid was a nickname the other services used for a member of the Navy.
    â€œKeep calling me that,” Linda said, “and I might just leave you both behind.”
    In another minute, they were on the sub, with towels and coffee in hand, to begin the wait for the
Oregon
to return and pick them up.
    The beatbox, now detached from the
Sorocaima
and with its tube deflated, was drifting to the bottom of the Caribbean. The only items they’d left behind were the climbing magnets still stuck to the side of the ship. Once the batteries discharged, however, they would fall away, disposing of the last evidence that any intruders had ever been aboard.

Juan Cabrillo grinned when he spotted the ill-advised roadblock ahead. Two tractor-trailers had been stretched across the far end of a bridge leading to the peninsula where Juan intended to rendezvous with the
Oregon
. Two Humvees with armed soldiers waited with the trucks, and three more Humvees trailed the tank, their occupants taking the occasional ineffective potshot.
    Not wanting to reveal their final destination, Juan and Linc had led their pursuers on a stop-and-go chase around the city while Max got the
Oregon
in position. Max had just radioed that they were ready, so they were on